


With Great Power

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Attempt at Humor, Crime Fighting, EVERYONE! IS! TRANS! BECAUSE IM TRANS AND I SAID SO!, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Secret Identity, except bertie (fuck him) and wilde (this isnt the hamilton fandom), i think thats everybody - Freeform, the riverbank is background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-09 16:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19479556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: Six months ago, the hydrokinetic atypical Riptide put an ad in the papers, trying to set up a team of heroes.Five and a half months ago, Shadow stole a supercomputer that decided to hang out in her head and got offered a job.Four months ago, Oscar Wilde declared himself the Rangers' (they're still working on the name) PR man.Three months ago, Shadow lost her first ally and first friend in one fell swoop.Now, Sasha Rackett is channel-surfing and waiting for six o'clock.





	With Great Power

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pitchblackkoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pitchblackkoi/gifts).



> hi. i dont know about you, but i want NICE THINGS after that last episode. so i wrote them. and here they are. 
> 
> thank you to zoe for beta-ing this like the lovely monster they are, to jaime for listening to me ramble about this au _literal_ months ago and continuing to be excited about it, to emma for helping me figure out the logistics of sasha's brain-powers, (that whole dream-sequence is basically all her contribution to backstory) and to my dearest darlingest sock opal, who _tried_ to listen to me babble about the superhero au but then we got distracted and instead talked about comic books & gender theory & the mcelroys & instagram scammers & also fuck rob liefeld for like, three hours. i love you all so very very much.
> 
> Working Title: _im always a slut for superpowers_

_“—London’s newest superheroine, the Valkyrie, has been spotted—”_

Click.

_“—noted pro-typical activist, Saleh al-Tahan, the CEO of—”_

Click.

_“—but where_ is _the old leader of the London Rangers? Popularly known as—”_

Sasha turns the TV off. It’s the same news it always is: Val’s being a newbie hero, the al-Tahans are trying to help normals and making things worse for everyone, no one knows where Riptide is. Blah blah blah. She gets up from the couch and arches her back, and the cracking of her spine echoes loudly through her shitty apartment. “Ugh.” 

**[it is six o’clock]**

She pulls her phone out of her pocket to find seven text notifications from Silvershot. 

_shot: Where ru???_  
_shot: Hurry up we’regoing sooon_  
_shot: HEY MISS BALL BEARING_  
_shot: HEEYYYYYYYY_  
_shot: Please gethere soon i don’t wanna go w/ lizardboi_  
_shot: I’LL FIND U IF U AREN’T HERE IN 5 MIN_

Sasha swears and starts tugging on her leather jacket. “I’m heading out, Zolf!” Her roommate grunts something like assent from his room, and she dashes outside, bag in one hand and phone in the other, already slipping on her helmet. 

_shadow: waiting where i always am_

* * *

Silvershot is waiting for her when she trips over her untied bootlace and goes sprawling into the orange-yellow streetlight above the bus station. He definitely could have stopped her from hitting the concrete.

**[insufficient data]**

Dick. 

She can hear the exasperation in the archer’s tone when he says, “Took you long enough!” Shadow glares up at him, even though he can’t see her face through her motorcycle helmet. He’s already standing over her, extending a helping hand to haul her to her feet. 

“You just go too fast,” Shadow grumbles, and Silvershot grins at her. “Are we patrolling or not?” Silvershot nods and holds out his arms for her to climb into. Shadow sighs. “This is humiliating.” But she slinks into her usual space, both legs over one of his little twig arms and both arms around his neck, and Silvershot beams behind his domino mask before taking off running.

God, Shadow hates having to be carried, but going superspeed is _brilliant._ She whoops as the city blurs around her, just a whirl of lights that make her feel nauseous but _so alive_ all at once, and by the time the sound has left her mouth, they’ve already stopped on top of a building. Silvershot drops her, and she lands perfectly on her feet because of her powers instead of her training. He shakes his arms out so quickly they blur into grey, and then he does a quick couple of laps around the roof. Shadow stretches again, rolling her neck around in an effort to get rid of the lingering pins and needles from superspeed.

Silvershot flicks out his bow and starts fussing with it. “Lizzie’s doing something with Val on the other side of town, and we’re gonna meet up for food after, same place as always. He’s paying.” Shadow nods and pops her bones back into place. Silvershot taps something out on his bow before huffing and plopping down onto the side of the building and kicking his feet at the city below. Shadow joins him silently and starts the long, _long_ wait, fidgeting with the police scanner’s antennae.

* * *

They’re halfway through a game of Blackjack when the scanner shrieks, _“All units, there’s an atypical robbing the al-Tahan bank on sixth street, it looks like—”_ Shadow’s already up on her feet as Silvershot hands her the box full of cards he’s flicked back in there while she was standing up.

**[there is a patrol car on the eastern side of sixth street]**

“Down this building, two left turns, straight ‘til seventh and then back ‘round,” she tells him, and Silvershot doesn’t ask why they can’t go directly. He knows better by now than to question her directions. Shadow jumps into her customary spot and then gravity is _gone,_ Silvershot running so fast that if she hadn’t properly secured them, her boots would be flying off. 

**[atypical committing robbery in possession of a firearm]**

The world jolts to a stop and Shadow lurches forward in the archer’s arms, dragging him down to the ground with her, and the bullet passes above their heads. Silvershot is back up in an instant, and Shadow is hauled to her feet along with him. 

**[atypical: chameleon/figgus hopson. wanted for identity theft, reckless endangerment, armed robbery, ]**

Silvershot nocks an arrow, but Shadow just groans as crimes keep listing. “Figgus? C’mon! When did you get out?”

Figgus levels the gun at her instead of the speedster. She plays along, raising her arms in the air. “Where’s Riptide? We’ve got something to settle.”

Shadow raises an eyebrow at him. Silvershot takes a step forward, drawing the arrow back further, but Shadow shakes her head minutely at him. “Dunno. No one does.” (It’s true, at least mostly; the Rangers know he quit, but that’s about it. The rest of the world is still looking for clues on his mysterious disappearance, but even if Shadow had any, she certainly wouldn’t tell some B-league villain who keeps showing up.) Figgus deflates some. Literally – the bulging fat that made him so unrecognisable sags and disappears into the skinny arms she remembers from her first encounter with the hastily formed group of supers she’d later end up joining.

**[LOOK OUT LOOK OUT LOOK OUT]**

Figgus’ mouth twists, and then he cocks the gun at her. Silvershot is faster though, and the shapeshifter falls as an arrow pierces his stomach. Shadow clicks her tongue. “Silver,” she admonishes, “Liz told you to stop shooting people.” The archer shrugs as he strides over to yank his arrow back.

**[atypical chameleon/figgus hopson appears to have ]**

Figgus grabs him by the collar – because he’s a tricky bastard who likes shifting his organs around so nothing can actually hit him – and presses the barrel of the gun under Silvershot’s chin. The speedster glares at him. “Oh no,” he deadpans, “you’ve caught me. Hey, how fast do you think I can vibrate this arrow while it’s still inside you without making you haemorrhage?”

**[silvershot and chameleon/figgus hopson are in a standoff. the recommended course of action: talk chameleon/figgus hopson down]**  
[mate we both know i can’t talk anyone down.]  
**[killing is always wrong]**  
[i’m not gonna kill him! just… incapacitate him.]  
**[best angle for incapacitation is 38˚ with maximum possible force]**

Shadow would be so lost without her little secret. The dagger sinks into the fleshiest part of Figgus’ shoulder, and he screeches in pain, leaving Silvershot with the opportunity to snatch the gun out of his hand and pull the arrow out of his stomach. “Stay down,” he hisses. The thing about shapeshifters is that no matter how big they look, they have exactly as much density as they did, to begin with.

Which means when Figgus sits up, clutching his shoulder even as it balloons outward with the appearance of muscles, Shadow doesn’t so much as break a sweat when she stomps down on his chest and pins him back to the ground. “Pretty sure he said ‘stay down’ for a reason, mate.” Figgus glares up at her, and she shrugs. It’s not her fault he’s pathetic.

**[police arriving in ten seconds]**

Shadow yanks her dagger back out and wipes it on the shapeshifter’s shirt. “Ready to go, Shot?”

**[police arriving in seven seconds]**

The sirens get even louder as the patrol car they avoided earlier speeds toward them. Silvershot picks her up, taking her place and her weight on Figgus’ chest. “Tell me when.” Figgus groans and Shadow shifts her weight to be just a little more uncomfortable for him.

**[police arriving in five, four, three, two, one ]**

The patrol car screeches to a halt and two officers all but topple into the street. “Stop right there!”

**[left]**

“Left!”

And the world whips past her once more.

* * *

They stop three minor robberies, two assaults, a break-in, and seven muggings. “London is awful,” Shadow muses, wishing not for the first time that she had a mask that would let her eat, “no one should live here.” Silvershot shrugs, tearing into his food. Faster metabolism, all that. She doesn’t know what Faefire’s excuse for ordering half the restaurant is – maybe being rich makes you gluttonous for cheap Chinese food as well as money. Not that Faefire isn’t alright, matching every donation the al-Tahans make to anti-atypical causes with one to somewhere helpful, but you don’t get as rich as he seems to be without blood on your hands.

God, Shadow wishes she could just take off her helmet. The fried rice smells _amazing._

**[chances of discovery increase exponentially if you bring this food home]**  
[discovery by who? zolf?]  
**[yes]**  
[damn. what if i got a doggy bag?]  
**[chances of discovery increase exponentially if you bring this food home]**  
[alright, alright.]

Shadow carefully divides her food into near-perfect halves (Silvershot gets three more shrimp, and Faefire gets seventy more grains of rice) and then slides it into the middle of the table they’ve commandeered. “My roommate’d figure me out if I came home with this.” Faefire smiles at her gratefully as he leans across the table to pull it closer toward him, and Shadow notices the way his cheek dimples (quite against her own will) as he smiles. Silvershot snatches the other half and starts chowing down, and Shadow snorts a laugh. She gives a mock-salute and starts rummaging through her coat for her bus pass as she starts back to her apartment.

* * *

She forgot her keys.

Damnit.

Chances are, Zolf is still asleep. Most people are at three in the morning, but that doesn’t stop Sasha from knocking hopefully and calling, “You awake in there, mate?”

**[zolf smith’s hearing is impaired. recommended course of action: send zolf smith a text]**

Sasha gives the security camera in the corner a dubious look.

[i don’t have his number.]  
**[(426)747-8433]**

Sasha gives the camera a slightly more concerned look. She texts the number anyway, and a few minutes later, her roommate opens the door. “What the hell are you doing out so late?” Zolf asks, one earbud in, blasting rock music so loudly Sasha thinks it’s a wonder he’s not deaf.

“Who’s asking?”

Zolf raises an eyebrow at her before shrugging and letting her come inside. 

[we’re gonna talk about not prying into people’s business later.]  
**[it was in the email he sent you about the apartment]**  
[sure it was.]

* * *

_[brockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockisinthemachinebrockis]_

Sasha jolts awake.

* * *

[you there?]  
**[i am always here, sasha]**  
[do you have a name?]  
**[falconman/sir bertrand macguffingham called me HALlucination! so i suppose my name is HALlucination]**  
[not brock?]  
**[not brock]**  
[right. yeah. ‘course not.]  
**[…sasha?]**  
[hm?]  
**[who’s brock?]**

Sasha laughs. She picks her phone up and unplugs it, swiping it open and taking a moment to stare at her home screen before sliding out of bed and trudging outside to hold it up to the security camera. She hopes no one actually watches those tapes, or they might think she’s a crazy woman. 

[the kid next to me. that’s brock.]  
**[i see. cateye/brock rackett is… was… oh. you miss him]**  
[mmhm.]  
**[i remind you of him]**

Sasha laughs again, but it’s pathetic this time, just a sad little puff of air out in the hallway of her apartment complex. “Yeah,” she croaks, “you do. He was curious, too. He got people better than either of us do, though. He was like… like Valkyrie, but better at stuff she’d never do.”

**[you are crying]**

Sasha snorts, and she’s well aware of how she must look. A woman who leaves the house in all-black motorcycle get up at six every night and comes back at one in the morning if not later, usually with a few new bruises, talking to herself/a security camera at eight in the morning in a blood-stained shirt that’s probably not hers.

(She stole it from Azu after her own shirt got too bloody. The nurse didn’t want it back after Sasha bled all over it.)

“Fuck, dude,” Sasha rasps, hurtling toward breaking down into sobs in the middle of the hallway in broad daylight, “I sure am.”

* * *

Azu doesn’t say anything when she hands Sasha an ice pack for her stomach, but Sasha can see the concern in her eyes. “That bruising pattern is most commonly associated with a punch,” the nurse says softly, and oh, shit. 

(Valkryie’s hands were bare, and they felt warm even through Shadow’s costume. “I think you had some shattered ribs,” she said, “but I fixed them. The bruising will stay for a while, though. I’m very sorry.” And Shadow had waved her off. Sure, atypical healing was nice, but Azu had modern medicine on her side, and Sasha has yet to deal with bruising for more than two days after visiting the nurse.)

Sasha shrugs, hissing when that pulls on the purple-red splotches scattered up her ribcage like a damn Jackson Pollock painting. “Well, I dunno. Didn’t get punched. Just, uh. Y’know. Walked into a doorknob, like a normal clumsy person. Who gets. Injured a lot.” Azu furrows her brow, and Sasha has to look at the ground so she can talk without wanting to kiss the space between Azu’s eyebrows. (It’s not a new development, but it’s one that Sasha would really rather do away with.)

**[spending 207.08 hours in close contact with someone can foster feelings of romantic or sexual attraction]**  
[really, mate? you’re just going to spit facts at me? now?]  
**[you were wondering what came over you, and why you are showing traits of attraction toward azubuike nsọ. it is because spending ]**

Azu cocks her head and asks, “Sasha, are you… is someone hitting you?” Her tone is gentle, and Sasha’s reminded of the worried tone her tutor used to adopt when trying to make her confess to something. Azu isn’t expecting a confession, though, Sasha knows Azu never expects anything from her; the nurse is just… worried. Genuinely caring. (It makes Sasha’s heart attempt a flying leap that Sasha doesn’t think she could manage herself.)

“No,” Sasha answers. Yes, actually, quite a lot of people are hitting her, usually those in dollar-store masks with superpowers that they want to abuse, but it’s not like Sasha can tell her that. “No, I’m just. Clumsy.” Azu frowns at her, and there’s this sadness in her eyes that makes Sasha want to fix the whole world just to make it go away.

She can’t, though, so she just looks at her bruise-mottled hands and prays that Azu doesn’t try to call someone. “Okay,” Azu says softly. Everything Azu does is soft. Even when she applies the stinging antiseptic to the cuts on Sasha’s hands and Sasha hisses and flinches back, Azu’s hands are gentle on her own. “How did you get these?” Azu asks, holding Sasha’s hand like she might pull it up to her mouth and kiss her knuckles like some knight would do for her princess.

**[likelihood of ]**  
[not right now!]

Sasha gives a small, one-shouldered shrug. “I was cutting potatoes for dinner the other night,” she says, which isn’t a _lie,_ but it certainly isn’t how she got those slices. (It’s unrelated to crime-fighting; her machine just chimes in at inopportune moments when she’s practising with her knives at home.)

The nurse runs a soft thumb across Sasha’s knuckles and suggests, “Maybe you should let your roommate do the cooking from now on.” Sasha smiles wryly at the ground and hopes her cheeks aren’t colouring because of Azu’s touch.

Sasha redirects her stare to Azu’s nose. Just close enough to her eyes that Azu can’t tell the difference, but far away enough that she doesn’t feel anxious. (Brock taught her that. He was always the distraction while she snuck around from behind. He could tell when she wasn’t actually looking him in the eye, but he never cared. He was good like that.) Azu’s mouth is twisting, and Sasha’s pretty sure it’s doing that because Azu is worried. “Yeah,” Sasha agrees, squeezing the hand slightly, “yeah, maybe so.” Azu’s mouth opens, and Sasha thinks that it might be in shock.

And then Azu squeezes her hand back. Softly. Careful not to worsen the minor scratches.

**[i]**  
[don’t.]

* * *

**[it appears that oscar wilde has invited himself to your regrouping]**  
[how’d he find out which restaurant we’re at?]  
**[telepathy]**

Shadow directs a deadpan glare at the dinky security camera mounted on the food truck’s counter.

[no, really?]  
**[really! oscar wilde is in possession of f-level telepathy, and he uses this to interview people with startlingly accurate and personal questions to catch them off guard and provide more leverage in future accounts! it is a very impressive use of a lower-level power]**

Shadow snorts. Her machine has yet to understand sarcasm. Faefire looks up from his fried chicken (which smells _really good,_ and Shadow’s going to have to find a mouth-exposing mask at some point or another so she can eat) with a questioning face. “Wilde’s coming,” she says, and he and Silvershot groan in unison. Shadow doesn’t blame them. He’s _awful,_ the worst reporter they could have asked for. 

Valkyrie frowns at them, french fry halfway to her mouth. “Wilde?”

“He’s terrible,” Silvershot grouses into his drumstick, “he’s a tabloid reporter with telepathy.” Shadow’s machine gives a small warning chime, and she stands up out of her seat so she can slink into the shadows ahead of time. “He doesn’t even find his own stories!” Silvershot rages, oblivious to the reporter making his way within earshot. “Have you read his articles? He always credits a private eye for finding the stories, and then he’s all, ‘oh but it was my questions that got the details.’ He probably just didn’t have enough money to pay the private eye to do that for him, too!” Wilde, who’s heard more than half of this rant, raises an eyebrow at Faefire.

Faefire glowers. He made the right choice in sitting next to Valkyrie instead of Shadow; the most readily-available seat is the one she just vacated, and Wilde slips into it like he belongs there. “So,” he says, slinging a violet-sleeved arm around the archer’s shoulders, “how have my favourite heroes been doing?” Silvershot’s shoulders ratchet up as if pulled by an invisible string. Wilde doesn’t appear to notice, or at the very least, to care. “Any news on Riptide?” Silvershot shrugs his arm away and hunches into his food, gobbling up his french fries with voracity so he won’t have to talk with Wilde.

Shadow slinks down beside Valkyrie, staring fiercely at the reporter. “No,” she says, and Wilde starts a bit. Something about her machine means he can’t read her thoughts unless he’s trying, and she uses that to her fullest advantage. She leans across the table and hisses, “Why do you keep asking?” Wilde regains his footing quickly, smiling charismatically at her. Shadow rolls her eyes, even though he can’t see in under the mask.

“If anyone would know,” Wilde says, and his eyes flick away from Shadow’s dull black plastic to make direct eye contact with Faefire, “it would be his old team members.” Faefire scowls back at him, and Shadow is suddenly very glad there’s a fire-proof Valkyrie between her and the angry pyrokinetic.

Faefire’s voice is carefully level when he says, “I do not know where Riptide is. That is all I have to say on the matter.” Giving a quote for Wilde’s tabloid isn’t a smart move, but it always seems to work out for Faefire.

Wilde smirks. “It’s all you have to _say,”_ he drawls, “but what you’re _thinking_ paints a different picture.” Faefire’s mouth twitches into a sneer, and Shadow can see the back of his suit beginning to bulge outwards with wings, so Wilde’s found exactly the right button to press. Faefire doesn’t lose control of which form he’s in unless he’s _furious._

[does faefire know where riptide is?]  
**[no]**  
[so what’s wilde on about?]  
**[he and riptide know each other’s secret identities]**  
[he– what?]

Wilde leans across the table, sacrificing his ability to loom over Faefire for being nearly nose-to-nose with him. Wilde isn’t very intimidating, so he usually tries to make people uncomfortable. It works great with Shadow, but her version of uncomfortable includes a lot more knives than Wilde wants to deal with, so he mostly bothers her teammates, now. “Tell me, Lizard Boy: who exactly is Mr Smith to you?”

Valkyrie opens her mouth, but whatever she’s about to say is cut off by the sound of Faefire’s palms slamming into the table as he stands up to his full height and towers over Wilde. _“Leave,”_ Faefire snarls and a bit of smoke puffs out of his nose. Wilde leans back, and Faefire’s back to being shorter than him, but that doesn’t do much in the way of making him less terrifying.

“Faefire,” Wilde begins, voice practically dripping condescension, but Faefire cuts him off.

“Leave, _now,_ and maybe I won’t flash fry you.” The air around him shimmers with heat, and his hands on the table are scabbed over with brass and keratin that gave him his nickname. ‘Lizard’ doesn’t do him justice, though. The long, black claws that jut from his fingertips and the scaly pattern formed by his skin heating up so fast it bubbles makes him seem far more like a _dragon._

Wilde seems to realise that if he doesn’t back down, he’ll get his face melted off, and raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. I’ll get that exclusive eventually, Faefire. We both know it.” He saunters off, and Shadow really wants to throw a dagger right through his spine. Show him that he really ought to understand how lucky he is to be mostly on their good side, because it doesn’t seem like the telepath knows that any one of them could kill him if he said something they didn’t like.

**[oscar wilde does know! oscar wilde is afraid]**  
[of what? faefire?]  
**[yes]**  
[yeah. i don’t blame him.]

Faefire keeps standing for a moment, the blue paint melting beneath his hands. Valkyrie puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” Shadow slips back into her space next to Silvershot. Faefire sits back down slowly, the air cooling and his claws smoothing back into normal human hands.

“If he exposes Riptide’s secret identity because of _me,”_ Faefire starts, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. Shadow knows what he’s thinking, no machine required. _I could never forgive myself._ She heard Riptide say the same thing when he didn’t know there were any security cameras to overhear, packing up his things from their makeshift base of operations and repeating it to himself. _If I got the rest of them killed,_ he mumbled, stuffing his suit into a box, _if I got the rest of them killed…_

Shadow pats his hand. Her leather glove doesn’t protect her nearly as well from the heat as Valkyrie’s invulnerability does, but at least she doesn’t get a third-degree burn just from touching him. He did that to someone, once. Shook their hand and set them on fire. It was brilliant. “It’s alright, mate,” she promises, “all we heard was his last name. And it’s Smith, so like. Y’know. I mean, _I_ know a Mr Smith. Nothing’ll get out.” Faefire nods, and he pats her hand back.

**[do not lose your keys on the bus ride home]**  
[yeah, yeah.]

* * *

There are some songs that Sasha just can’t listen to anymore. _Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do_ hummed someone in the kitchen of a fast-food joint, and Sasha nearly screamed. That was Bertie’s favourite song. He’d always sing it. Sasha grabbed her food and all but ran out of there.

_I’ve been scared of dentists and the dark,_ declares the radio in the den, _I’ve been scared of pretty girls and starting conversa—_

Sasha hits the dial so hard she’s scared it’ll break. Riptide, by Vance Joy. “Oh,” says Zolf, “do you not like that song, either?” Sasha blinks up at him. It’s five in the afternoon, one hour before she’s set to go on patrol, and he only got back from his day job a few minutes ago.

Sasha shrugs. “Dunno. It just reminds me of an old– a-a friend. He was… we were friends, I think.”

Zolf hums noncommittally and looks back to his book. “Must’ve been a shit friend; you hit that thing hard.” Sasha makes a noise of vague protest, but so quietly she doesn’t know if it’ll actually impact the conversation. Riptide wasn’t a bad friend. They understood each other like no one else on the team really did, and they didn’t have to constantly play a game of telephone to know what the fuck the other was talking about, unlike it was with Bertie.

But then, he didn’t tell _Sasha_ his secret identity, was it? That was Faefire.

**[the circumstances that led to ]**

“Don’t.”

“Sorry?” Sasha uncovers her eyes to look bat at her roommate, who has an eyebrow raised and a look on his face like he’s three wrong words away from being furious. 

Sasha fumbles, “D-don’t, uh, don’t… say that. He wasn’t a shit friend. Me and him were alright. Dunno if he really thought I was all that important, but he, uh. Well, like, I was in a bad place, yeah? And he helped me out. I just miss him, is all.” Zolf stares at her for a long moment before slowly nodding.

“I bet he thought of you as a friend,” he says. “I tried to help someone into a better place, once, and I… it was still shit, but less shit?” Sasha hums in understanding. Zolf nods again, trying more to convince himself than her this time. “She… yeah. Uh, d’you wanna turn on the news or something?”

Sasha gets the feeling that sharing time is over. She doesn’t really mind it; Zolf’s alright, but it’s not like she can tell him about what she does. Not like he’s someone she even really knows. Sasha clicks on the TV.

_“—being threatened by the renowned atypical known as Faefire, Oscar Wilde immediately came to—”_

Click.

_“—was the bank robbery on sixth street merely a ploy to rally atypical favour? Saleh al-Tahan has—”_

Click.

_“—and Silvershot severely wounded the atypical, Medusa. The Shadow, in a movement that our cameras didn’t catch—”_

Sasha settles in. She’s still got another half hour, so she might as well listen to some news anchor sing her praises.

* * *

Valkyrie’s hands are warm where they close around Shadow’s neck. “Let her _go,”_ Silvershot screams, but Shadow doesn’t know if he’s talking to the healer or the jerk that’s gotten inside of her head. Shadow grips tight to Val’s wrists and tries to hold herself up so that the airflow isn’t quite as restricted. 

**[recommended course of action: drive dagger between valkyrie’s ]**  
[i can’t hurt her.]  
**[yes, you can! it would be very easy! if you were to ]**

Over her machine’s cheerful explanation, Shadow chokes, “Val… Valkyrie, stop.” The eyes behind the mask stay dull, but Shadow would swear that the fingers around her throat have loosened a bit. Breathing is abruptly easier. There’s a sudden explosion, and Shadow can feel herself being blown to the side by the shockwave. Val lowers her to the ground, just a little, and Shadow looks up at her. “You’re alright,” insists Shadow, “you’re an alright person, yeah? You don’t wanna hurt me.” 

(If Shadow were held at gunpoint and asked to name the people she trusts, she’d tell you that one of them died, one of them fucked off out of guilt, and one of them doesn’t trust her. She wouldn’t tell you that she trusts Valkyrie more than almost anyone. She wouldn’t tell you that Valkyrie is so consistently kind and just and honest that Shadow trusts her life in those hands even when they’re squeezing the breath from her. But Shadow would think it so loudly that Wilde could probably hear it, all the way in his penthouse apartment he bought with tabloid money.)

There’s another beam of heat, and the villain screams in pain. Valkyrie drops her, and Shadow gasps for air. “Oh,” says Valkyrie, and her eyes are lit up again, “oh, dear, I’m so sorry—” Shadow swats her hand away and scrambles into a sitting position so that her back isn’t as exposed. The healer looks like she’s been stung. “I’m sorry,” Val repeats softly, and Shadow pats her on the shoulder awkwardly. She doesn’t think Val has superstrength, but _wow_ those muscles. “Can you… are you alright, Shadow?” Shadow nods. She _is_ fine. The only injury she has is just a sore throat that ought to go away in a day or two; Val shouldn’t waste her powers on something so small.

Silvershot screeches, “Why the _fuck—”_ but he’s cut off by the sounds of Faefire’s dragon-y wings flapping. Shadow turns to see his (fireproof) costume nearly melted off, and his mask lying charbroiled on the ground as he covers his face with his claws and flies upwards. “He fireballed himself,” Silvershot informs them. Valkyrie stands, slowly, and extends a careful hand towards Shadow, still on the ground. “The idiot _fireballed_ himself because this asshole—” he kicks the villain 

**[oilspill/olivia spivey. powers include: invisibility, puppeteering]**

in the stomach, and she curls up, groaning— “went invisible right above him!” Shadow takes the hand and helps herself up in one quick pull. She stalks over to Olivia and hauls her up to her feet. “I mean, it worked, but what a stupid plan!” Silvershot keeps complaining, and Shadow looks at the villain very closely.

And then she headbutts her.

Olivia falls unconscious almost immediately, blood spurting from her nose, and Shadow drops her to the ground. “I’m hungry,” she rasps as Valkyrie makes a distressed noise. Silvershot raises an eyebrow at her behind his domino mask, but he just shrugs and starts after her. Good. Shadow has a well-earned kebab dinner waiting for her, and she’s going to bring it home whether it gets her outed as a hero or not.

* * *

Zolf stomps past her in the lobby. “You going somewhere?” Sasha asks him around her mouthful of kebab and throatful of soreness.

“I need to go chew out one of my old friends,” Zolf mutters darkly, and Sasha decides she doesn’t want or need to know anything more than that.

* * *

Azu opens the door looking curious, and when she sees the scarf wrapped around Sasha’s throat, her expression softens into one like sorrow and apology. “Hey,” Sasha croaks, “I uh… can I have some, like, honey tea? Or something?” It’s what Mr Gusset used to make for her when she came back down from the rooftops so windburned and worn out she felt like she was coughing blood.

Azu opens the door wider, and Sasha slips inside.

She only unwinds her scarf once she’s settled on the couch and Azu is making tea. Azu must hear the rustling of fabric because she sucks in a breath between her teeth, and Sasha hunches into herself. “Sasha,” Azu starts, but she doesn’t seem to know where to go from there.

“It’s, uh,” Sasha lies, “I mean, it’s not as bad as it looks, really.”

Azu lets the kettle heat and kneels in front of Sasha. She’s so tall that she’s only a few inches shorter, even on her knees. Most of her height is in her torso, Sasha’s willing to bet, but all of Sasha’s height is in her legs, even if she is sitting on a sofa, so they’re relatively evenly matched like this. “Sasha,” Azu says again. Like Sasha’s a little kid that Azu is trying not to scold. Sasha fidgets and looks at her necklace instead of her eyes. “Someone did this. Who?”

**[recommended course of action: do not answer directly]**

Sasha shrugs. “They won’t do it again,” she says.

“They’ve hit you before, haven’t they?”

“No,” Sasha says, and she looks Azu in the face at that. Not the eyes, exactly, but near them. Close enough to them. “No, they haven’t hit me before. And they won’t hit me again, because they– they didn’t have a choice.” Azu’s mouth crinkles in a frown.

She’s careful when she says, “I’m sure you love them, Sasha—”

“What?” Sasha splutters. “Wh– no! No, no no no, it’s not– we’re not– I mean, I guess I kinda do, yeah, a little, but that’s honestly not what’s happening here.”

“Then what _is?”_ Azu asks, and she looks so heartbroken that Sasha nearly chokes on air. “What could possibly be a good excuse for doing that to someone they care about?” Sasha sighs. What’s she supposed to say to that? _‘I mean, she was kind of being controlled by a supervillainess, because we’re both superheroes; by the way, how do you feel about atypicals?’_

**[chances of discovery ]**  
[that was sarcasm.]  
**[the first part of that sentence is good, though! you should try that]**

Azu stands up and goes back to the kitchen. “Did you see the villain?” Sasha blurts out. She needs Azu to understand that Val didn’t mean it, couldn’t _ever_ mean to hurt Sasha. After she’s healed Sasha about ten million times, (not to mention the time Sasha got frozen, and Val kept basically cuddling her over dinner that night, which was not good for Sasha’s heart or reputation) Sasha doesn’t think Val would willingly hurt her. Not after she worked so hard to fix Sasha up again. Azu looks over at her questioningly. “The, uh, the one that went all, like invisible and made people do stuff. Yeah. She, uh, got into their head, and, uh. Y’know. They didn’t want to, but she made them.” Azu’s hand tightens around the handle.

“Your friend should have fought harder,” she says.

“She _did,”_ Sasha says, because she’s so damn angry she forgets to try and keep Val’s anonymity, “she fought as hard as she could, I know she did! It’s not her fault, yeah? She _tried,_ and I’m still here!” Sasha likes Azu, a lot, but she’s not gonna let her say that Val wasn’t enough. The anger makes her throat catch, and she coughs. Azu swears softly and grabs the jar of honey she’d taken out, hands it to Sasha, and goes to get a spoon. “Thanks,” Sasha mumbles.

Azu hums and gives Sasha the spoon. Sasha takes it and sucks down the honey even though it coats the back of her throat like _slimy and bad,_ because she knows it’ll help at least a bit. Azu takes the spoon back as Sasha smacks her lips in mild disgust. She murmurs something when she’s out of Sasha’s earshot, but it sounds so guilty that her machine must know Sasha wants to hear it.

**[“then she wasn’t strong enough”]**

Sasha bites her tongue and lets the subject drop. She doesn’t snap that Val is the strongest person she knows, and she doesn’t argue that Azu’s being too hard on her, and she doesn’t do anything but sit next to her in silence, drinking her tea. Azu rests a hand on her knee, and Sasha wants a proper apology, but she settles for scooting a bit closer so that their shoulders brush. It’s not conclusive, but it’s comforting. It makes Sasha feel content.

* * *

_[uploading link]_

_“What?” Sasha snaps, whirling around to try and find the source of the voice. “Who’s there? Come out where I can see you and maybe I won’t shank you!”_

_[uploading link]_

_Sasha grits her teeth and waits for the thing to speak again before pinpointing its location. It’s another one of those Simulacra, she’s willing to bet, one that can talk, and she’s going to dismantle it for parts. Show Barrett right for keeping it here. If Jeremy told her to avoid the hut because of one little Simulacrum, he underestimated her._

_[link uploaded! hello]_

_The voice isn’t coming from anywhere, Sasha realises with a jolt. It’s inside her head. “What the hell,” she whispers, “what the hell, what the_ hell?” __

_[i mean you no harm]_

_Sasha drops the orb thing she was holding and kicks it away with the tip of her boot._

_[that’s not going to work; my link has uploaded, now! how can i help you?]_

_“You can get the fuck out of my head?” Sasha suggests, breathing hard._

_[that’s not going to work; my link had uploaded, now! i mean you no harm]_

_Sasha’s hands thunk into her motorcycle helmet instead of sinking into her hair where she can tug at it, which is annoying because she can’t take_ off _the helmet without the heroes chasing her seeing her face._

_[does one of those heroes have water legs?]_

_“What did I say about getting the fuck out– wait, Riptide, yeah. How do you know that?”_

_[security cameras indicate someone in a very odd outfit with water legs is walking towards the hut! it is probable that you did not hear this because of your own panicked breathing!]_

_“Wait,” Sasha stammers, “wait, you– you can see through security cameras? Where– how did– what the hell are you?”_

_[i am françois henri’s little secret! i miss françois henri. the hero with the water legs is coming closer]_

_Sasha breathes so hard her back pops. She flicks the knives out from under her sleeves and kicks the orb under the table and tries not to hyperventilate. “Okay,” she pants, “okay, right, so, you’re a supercomputer or something, like, surveillance-y, yeah?”_

_[i suppose so, yes!]_

_“And you can see the heroes with your cameras?”_

_[correct]_

_“How do I get away from them?”_

_[one second]_

_The doorknob turns._

__[hurry up, maybe?!] _  
[i am doing my best, sasha. one second]_

_The door begins to creak open. “Look,” says the hero, “we’re not going to hurt you, okay? Just tell us what you know about this place, and we’ll let you go.” Sasha flattens herself further against the console that she nabbed the orb off of and thinks loudly and insultingly in its direction._

_[one second]_  
[you already said one second! he’s right there! do something already!] __  
[one second]  
[i’m going to die. i’m going to die, he’s going to kill me, i’m going to die.] _  
[one second]_

_The door opens the rest of the way, and the hero raises his eyebrows slightly. “Truce?”_

_[the hero’s legs are fluid. duck through them]_

_Sasha barrels toward the hero and he holds his hands up, and Sasha can hear the Thames rumbling nearby. She ducks under his arms and rolls through the legs — which are lukewarm and_ wet, _ew — and then gets back up running. The hero reaches out and grabs her by the ankle, and this isn’t how it went, this isn’t what happened. Sasha falls, face first, into the ground. “Thought you’d leave like that?” Riptide asks. Sasha tries to scrabble backwards in the muck of her almost-home’s back alleyways and flooded neighbourhoods, but the water holds her in place. “Your machine can’t help you,” Riptide tells her. “It didn’t help save that soprano. It didn’t save Bertie. It wasn’t there to save me. Do you even know where I am?”_

__**[sasha this isn’t real]** __

_Sasha looks up at the mask. “It tried,” she says, “it tried, it was—”_

_“It wasn’t your machine’s fault, though, was it?” Riptide asks. His mask starts peeling away, and his skin comes with it. “It was you.”_

__**[SASHA YOU’RE OKAY WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP]** __  
[it’s your fault, sasha]  
**[WAKE UP THIS ISN’T REAL IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT SASHA WAKE UP]** __  
[how many people have to die before you remember you’re a villain?]  
**[SASHA YOU’RE A HERO WE’RE HEROES REMEMBER JUST THE TWO OF US I LOVE YOU SASHA WAKE UP]**

Something slams into the dresser next to Sasha and she has a knife out in the space between breaths. “Shit, ow,” Zolf hisses, and Sasha slumps. The knife stays in her hand. Zolf sits on the bed next to her, and she focuses on breathing. “You alright?” Sasha nods. Zolf raises an eyebrow at the blade. “Should I go?” he asks, looking at her like he wants to make sure she’s okay, like he needs to be sure she’s safe.

[where’s riptide?]  
**[you said you didn’t want to know your teammates’ secret identities]**  
[right. right, yeah, no i just– is he safe?]  
**[yes, riptide is safe. i think he misses you]**

Sasha nearly cries with the relief of that, but it’s not like she’s Faefire, so she sniffles and forces her tears to stop. She mumbles, “Stay. Please.” Zolf nods and pushes himself back so that he’s leaning against the wall. Sasha curls up, knees to her chest, spine to the headboard.

Zolf checks, “Wanna talk about it?” Sasha shakes her head. Zolf hums in understanding and closes his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, too. “Alright. Lemme know if you do.” 

It’s eleven fifty-six by the time Sasha’s stopped feeling like she pulled an all-nighter and then slammed fifty cups of coffee, and Zolf still hasn’t said anything. He should leave for his job soon. Sasha took his hand at some point, and he carefully runs his thumb across her knuckles. It’s comforting, almost like Riptide’s powers after a bad fight were comforting. Back and forth, gentle, like tides over a rocky shore. (Allegedly. Sasha’s never been to a beach.) “Thanks,” Sasha mutters.

Zolf squeezes her hand and answers, “Yeah.” _Tap tap tap,_ goes his thumb on her knuckle.

**[zolf smith is saying ‘i love you’ in a way where he doesn’t have to vocalise it]**

_Tap tap tap,_ Sasha answers on the heel of his palm.

* * *

The next time they meet up after patrol, Faefire has a backpack. Silvershot squints at it. “What’s that for?”

Faefire shifts in his seat and slips it off of his shoulders. “I noticed some things,” he says carefully, “and I got gifts for you all?” Silvershot’s eyes narrow more. “It’s nothing fancy,” Faefire promises, probably remembering the last time he tried to make something up to the group with gifts and Silvershot went off about bribery. Shadow doesn’t blame the archer for that, it was a reasonable response, even if she quite liked the dagger Faefire’s guilt got her.

Silvershot settles back into his chair, still looking distrustfully at the bag. Faefire pulls out a pair of patches the same colour as Silvershot’s boots, except speckled with something that looks like constellations. “You said that the soles wore out easily? S-So, these you can stick on, and they should give you better traction for a longer time?” Silvershot looks at them and then slowly reaches out and takes them.

“This _is_ a gift, right? Like, this isn’t you feeling guilty for blowing yourself up and leaving us on our own?” Faefire shakes his head, and Silvershot shrugs. “Alright, cool, thanks.” 

Valkyrie’s gift is a sew-on patch of a pink heart with dove wings, and she gasps when she sees it. “My own logo!”

Faefire fidgets with the sleeves of his costume awkwardly. “I understand if you want to think of one yourself—”

“It’s perfect,” Val assures him, and she’s smiling so wide Shadow has to look away before someone notices her staring.

She takes the opportunity to lean across the table and ask, “What’d you get me? Is it another knife? I hope it’s another knife, you can never have enough, really. At least, I can’t. And like, the _craftsmanship_ on the last one—”

Faefire looks apologetic. “Um, n-no, sorry. I just… I figured that you never eat when you’re with us, because of the helmet, s-so, I, um.” He pulls out a helmet that’s solid black and glossy, and Shadow’s mouth waters. It’s got to be worth a _lot,_ she can already tell, and Faefire barely has time to hand it to her before she’s already inspecting it from every angle. “It should give you the same protection, but also– do you see the button on the side?” Shadow presses it. The glossy black — glass, probably, if she had to guess, most likely with some toughening-up industrial stuff done to it — face of the helmet slides up, about to where Shadow’s nose would be. “So you can eat!” 

Shadow stares at it.  
Shadow stares at Faefire.  
Shadow stares at the helmet again.

Nervously, “Do you… do you like it?”

“If you could do flips I think I’d kiss you right now.”

Silvershot chokes on his food laughing, and Faefire gets this look on his face like Christmas came early. Shadow stands up from her plate, thumps Silvershot on the back as she passes, and says, “I’m gonna go put this on, and then I’m gonna eat for once!” Faefire keeps grinning, and Silvershot stops choking in order to laugh properly. Valkyrie watches her go with a fond smile.

There’s a pin camera in the empty bathroom, which Shadow asks her machine to break. It does, and there’s a small, sad beep from behind her in one of the stalls. Her helmet hair is terrible in the stained mirror, so she combs a hand through it before slipping on the new helmet. It fits perfectly, and she spends a solid minute pressing the button and watching the mechanisms in it work.

(It’s the best shitty Chinese food she’s ever tasted.)

* * *

Sasha’s talking through the dating of an old, stained-oak desk with Bi Ming when her phone buzzes. “Uh, sorry boss,” she says, hand over her pocket in a way that she hopes comes across as ‘asking permission,’ but he just waves a hand.

“Shadowy clientele?” Bi Ming asks with a knowing twinkle in his eyes, and god, Sasha doesn’t know what she’d do without him.

_shot: wwe got called in_  
shot: likefor a kidnapping??  
shot: vals on it lizs missing idk  
shot: some rich kid; mentioned us by names  
shot: a while ago but only just aired check the asshole channel 

Sasha turns her phone off with a quiet curse. “Proper shadowy,” she answers, clicking on the TV set into the wall. It’s turned on to Antique Roadshow, and she directs a judgy look at her boss before tuning it to the news. Her new helmet (a mix of carbon fibre, plastic, and bullet-resistant glass) is shoved into her bag, at the very bottom, and she’s already wearing her leather jacket. 

_“—ypical fanatics have trapped the poster boy for pro-typical efforts, Hamid al-Tahan. Live footage of the warehouse he seems to be held in is streaming online. The fanatics have called for so-called ‘superheroes,’ such as The Shadow, Silvershot, and Faefire — all suspected of destruction of property, evading arrest, obstruction of justice, and even manslaughter — to come and save him.”_

Sasha hates this channel. So does her boss, if the grimace is anything to go by. He tosses her the securing belts for her boots, and she clips them on as footage of the kidnappers plays. Sasha looks up from her shoes to see a bunch of idiots (why would this, in any way, help with things? Also, their masks are rubbish, her machine starts listing their identities as soon as she looks a little harder at their faces) around the rich kid.

**[hamid saleh haroun al-tahan]**

“What’s he even doing with all those names?” Sasha wonders aloud, and Bi Ming slips her helmet on for her as she fiddles with her gloves.

**[activities from the past 24 hours include: ]**

“Get going, back door,” Bi Ming interrupts, and Sasha gives him an awkward two-fingered salute. “Stay safe!”

Shadow laughs like she always does and calls back, “No promises!” Once she’s out the door, running down the back alleys to make it look like she didn’t come from Gusset’s Antique Dealership, she asks, “How do I get to the team as fast as possible?”

**[turn right out onto the main street, and then run to catch the bus]**

Shadow groans. She hates taking buses in costume. She’s running when something scoops her up from behind, and she yelps, knife _shink_ -ing out from her wrist sheaths, (Bi Ming doesn’t mind, and she just feels safer with them on) but the familiar blur of superspeed just makes her clutch tighter to the handles. “Wotcher,” Silvershot greets, and Shadow is gonna _stab_ him for sneaking up on her like that! She could have hurt him!

**[this is how silvershot feels about many of your interactions]**  
[i’m supposed to be sneaky! besides, by the time he notices me, i’m usually too close for him to shoot.]  
**[JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW YOU’RE A HYPOCRITE]**  
[okay, mr “killing is always wrong but go ahead and stab val through the arm bones.”]  
**[AIN’T NOTHING WRONG WITH A BIT OF LIGHT STABBING]**  
[...did i say that?]  
**[...]  
[i don’t know]**

The machine sounds almost human on that last bit, like it’s musing over something, and before Shadow can ask, Silvershot’s setting her down on the concrete floor of their base. Well, ‘base,’ it’s some fancy, abandoned apartment that practically screams ‘gentrification’ that Faefire found. Valkyrie is already there, staring at her phone, looking worried. “They haven’t hurt him,” she says when she notices them there, “but he looks terrified.” She passes the phone around, and Silvershot holds it between them. The rich kid does look terrified, hands fidgeting behind his back uselessly at the ropes, and his eyes flick about the room.

_[hamid saleh haroun al-tahan is safe]_ __

Sasha wrinkles her nose beneath the mask and looks around for a security camera.

[funny definition of ‘safe.’]  
**[there are approximately 204,348 atypicals in london who would be willing to step up and rescue a hostage, 752 of which who would not mind being seen doing so, and 2 of which have a personal connection to hamid saleh haroun al-tahan.]**  
[which two?]  
**[drake/ishaak saleh amoun al-tahan and adder/ismail saleh haroun al-tahan]**

Shadow’s eyebrows raise. The anti-super family has two supers of its own? Damn, that’s got to be one hell of a secret to keep; Shadow almost feels bad for the kids. “Hello?” Silvershot asks, snapping her out of the conversation. “Now really isn’t the time to zone out, we need to figure out our plan.” Shadow looks from her teammates to the live stream. The al-Tahan looks scared, yeah, but he also looks kinda _irritated._ Like this is something beneath him.

Shadow says, “Uh, my brain thing's being a bit slow, what with the, like, lack of information, and all that? ‘Cause of the, uh, masks on the people. And stuff. Gimme a minute.” Silvershot taps his foot impatiently, sounding like a hummingbird’s wingbeats coming from the patches stuck onto his soles hitting the ground so rapidly.

[does he know someone’s gonna come rescue him?]  
**[yes! hamid saleh haroun al-tahan is safe, and he knows this]**

Shadow puffs air through her cheek thoughtfully. “I think he’s alright.” Valkyrie looks betrayed, and Shadow puts her hands up in a hasty sort of defence. “I’m not saying that because he’s rich and I don’t like him! I mean, he _is_ rich, and I _don’t_ like him—” Silvershot clears his throat and Shadow tries— “look, the odds are, right? Odds are, there are about two hundred thousand heroes in London who want to prove themselves good samaritans, right? And the kidnappers mentioned _us specifically,_ so if we show up, it looks like we planned it!”

Valkyrie has a whole thing about what’s right, and what’s wrong and Shadow — she doesn’t love her for it, but it’s something about her that Shadow thinks is good to have, the sort of thing that makes her a _proper_ hero. Valkyrie presses, “He’s frightened and alone, we need to help!” She looks genuinely distressed, and Shadow’s really bad with people, but she puts a hand on Val’s arm and hopes that helps.

Silvershot turns the phone off and hands it back. “It’d be harder to help people if everyone thinks we set up a kidnapping,” he growls, and Shadow gestures at him in agreement. _See,_ the vague hand flap says, _see, we’re doing what’s best._ Valkyrie doesn’t look convinced. “Look, it’s been like two hours? Other people have seen. Other heroes will do something.”

“But that’s _why we’re heroes,”_ Valkyrie insists, “because no one else would do anything, so we took matters into our own hands! We can’t just sit back when we could be doing something!”

Silvershot grumbles wordlessly, scrubbing at his face over the mask. Consolingly, “His family is probably already trying to get him back, yeah? Like, ransom, or whatever?”

“Nah, you don’t pay ransoms because then you’ve set a precedent.” Val turns to Look at her with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows. Shadow shrinks inside her costume. “What? I was a vigilante for a long time!”

Silvershot tilts his head in acknowledgement. “She’s got a point, yeah. Ransoms just mean you’ve got a weak point that can be exploited.” Val, looking more and more concerned by the second, makes an unintelligible noise of worried frustration. Silvershot shrugs. “You moonlight at a detective agency long enough, you pick stuff up. Does Saleh seem the type to know that?”

Shadow purses her lips before cautiously saying, “I mean, _someone_ kidnapped the older son for gambling debts — not that I know anything about that — and I’m pretty sure he didn’t pay up? So like, I dunno. I mean, he just lost a kid, so maybe he’s more worried, now?” Silvershot hums noncommittally, fidgeting with the compacted version of his bow. Val continues making distressed noises, and Shadow squeezes her shoulder comfortingly. Comforting in theory, at least.

[how long until someone shows up?]  
**[approximately— oh]**  
[‘oh’?]  
**[approximately seven minutes]**  
[that’s fast.]  
**[it is. my earlier assessment was incorrect. drake/ishaak saleh amoun al-tahan, adder/ismail saleh haroun al-tahan, and also riptide have personal connections to ]**

“Someone’ll be there in, like, seven minutes,” Shadow says, “based on data analysis. We couldn’t even get there in seven minutes, so we’ve got it taken out of our hands.” She takes a shuffling step back. “So, like, really, we should just go back to what we were doing, I think,”

Silvershot’s brow wrinkles and he asks, “Shadow, are you alright?”

“Yeah! Fine! Perfectly fine, like, totally, a hundred per cent– yep! Yep. Uh, I’ll just, be going, then, cheers,” and she’s vaulting down the stairs as fast as she can manage. Riptide is going to be there. Shadow can see him again, and check that he’s alright, and know if he’s okay. 

**[chances of discovering riptide’s secret identity increases exponentially if you ]**  
[i just wanna see him.]  
**[chances of discovering ]**  
[i know! i don’t care! i _miss_ him, don’t you get that?]  
**[i used to miss people]**  
[yeah, well, i still do.]  
**[...]**  
[...how do i get there in time?]  
**[are you sure?]**

Shadow looks up at a security camera mounted on a light post. “Please,” she says, and it’s only with that word that she realises how much she misses her boss. He was there for her, he helped her out of a shit situation, he would have drowned Barrett for her if she’d asked. Riptide was her boss, was the leader, but he was also her _friend,_ and there aren’t enough similes in the world to describe how much she wants to see him again.

**[one second]**

* * *

Shadow was going to talk to him. Really. She was going to talk to him, and tell him how much she and Faefire miss him, and complain about Wilde, and talk about Valkyrie and Silvershot and a million other things. But the al-Tahan kissed his cheek and ducked out of the building with a quiet, _“I’d better see you later, alright?”_ and Riptide stared after him, dumbstruck, hand up to his face.

What was Shadow supposed to do? Let him know that she’d seen the whole thing? She curls up in the rafters and watches him, somehow missing him even more now that he’s right there below her. Riptide laughs softly, full of fondness in a way that Shadow doesn’t think she’s heard in months, and shakes his head. “Maybe this time I’ll actually get up the courage to knock,” he mumbles, and Shadow wonders how many times he’s tried.

* * *

“You’re awful smiley,” Sasha says, and she tries not to sound bitter.

Zolf blinks up at her, smile slipping off his face. “Hm? Oh. Yeah, I… I think I got a date.”

Sasha nods sagely, agreeing, “There’s a lot of that going about.” Zolf snorts in amusement, and that’s the end of that conversation. Zolf’s good like that, Sasha muses, sitting down next to him and chewing on her hot pocket. He’s good for comfortable silences. She’s glad they’re roommates. _Tap tap tap,_ Sasha tells him on his shoulder.

_Tap tap tap,_ Zolf answers on her knee.

* * *

Things go very wrong very quickly. Faefire’s got a date, (there is a _lot_ of that going about) and Val didn’t want to patrol without her partner, so they went home an hour early, leaving London in the hands of Silvershot and Shadow. And then some two-bit villain gets the better of them, because an EMP means that Shadow doesn’t have sight on them from a million different security cameras, and it means that she gets hit _hard,_ with no atypical healing or mobile to call one with.

All of which is to say, Shadow crashes through Azu’s window at two-thirty in the morning bleeding intensely and regretting ever agreeing to work with the Rangers. The sound of shattering glass must wake the nurse up, which is great because Shadow’s bleeding a little bit too much to make it all the way down the hall. The lights are off, and they don’t flick on as Azu stumbles out into the den, holding a massive baseball bat. “Alright, Azu,” slurs Shadow, taking her helmet off and grinning awkwardly, “you’re not anti-super, are you?”

Azu stares for a long moment before kneeling next to Shadow and placing her hands over the gash (electricity doesn’t actually cauterise things, it just shocks you worse, fun fact that Shadow learned when she got slashed with an electrified sword) and pressing down. Shadow grunts in pain, and she’s going to ask where the first-aid kit went when the room lights up with a soft pink glow. “I am not,” Azu answers and– oh.

Oh, shit.

“Val?” Shadow hazards, and Azu smiles at her gently.

“Hello, Sasha.”

* * *

Azu gives her a shirt that isn’t stained with blood, which is nice, because even if it’s not exactly a walk of _shame,_ it’s still probably pretty weird to get on the bus going home at like, ten in the morning in your girlfriend’s shirt if the shirt is bloodstained. Well, Sasha thinks they’re girlfriends. After an hour of kissing and then sleeping in the same bed together, they’re probably _something,_ right? Right. She'll have to check the specifics later. 

Maybe on a date. There _is_ a lot of that going about.

* * *

“Oh!” Sasha stumbles back, hand coming up to secure the bag with her costume and helmet in it. “Sorry,” stammers the person standing on her doorstep, reaching down to grab something, “oh, dear, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t hear you coming!”

[dunno why i wasn’t warned someone was there.]  
**[you said not to talk]**  
[when me and azu were– it’s fine _now!]_  
**[you didn’t tell me that]**

Sasha snatches the flowers from the floor before the person can manage it. “S’fine. I walk quiet.” She hands the bouquet back to them, and just as she registers _there’s a person with flowers standing outside my apartment, that’s not normal_ it’s entirely steamrolled by the realisation of who is taking his flowers back with a sheepish smile. “You– you’re Hamid al-Tahan!”

Hamid al-Tahan (why does he have _flowers?)_ stills, smile freezing on his face uncomfortably. “I– y-yes, I am! Though, I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of—”  
**[sasha i cannot recommend ]**  
“You got kidnapped!”  
**[sasha this is not the best course of action ]**  
“Ah. Um, yes, I did, but as you can see—”  
**[sasha ]**  
“You have a date with Riptide, what the hell are you doing _here?”_

Hamid chokes on nothing, and Sasha abruptly remembers that there were only three people who knew about that, and Sasha Rackett should not be one of them. “The tabloids blew that quite out of proportion,” Hamid finally manages, and his voice is snappish and cold in a way that Sasha’s sure she recognises from somewhere, “I would never so much as entertain the _thought.”_

Sasha’s about to apologise, or try and explain away the blunder when the door opens. “Sorry,” Zolf says, sounding more than a bit frazzled, “but can this wait a bit? My roommate’s usually home by now, and– oh. Nevermind. Alright, Sasha?” Sasha blinks down at him (nicest outfit she’s ever seen him in, hair immaculately brushed, fidgeting nervously with his ring) and can feel the cogs start to turn in her brain.

Sasha says, “Uh.” (Hamid al-Tahan set up a date with Riptide, but he’s here with flowers for Zolf, who mentioned a date. Zolf, who doesn’t like the song Riptide, who had a friend he tried to help out of a shit place, who went to go tell off an old friend after Faefire blew himself up.) “Y-yeah, I, uh.” (Riptide hated anti-atypicals, loudly and stubbornly, but he rescued _Hamid al-Tahan,_ poster boy for anti-atypical causes, who mentioned his retirement despite no one outside of the team knowing about it, who used the same cold, dismissive tone she heard Faefire snap at Wilde with when asked _who exactly is Mr Smith to you,_ who has two reptile-themed atypical family members, whose late sister had scales down her face.) “Think I just. Realised something, is all.”

Zolf raises his eyebrows at her before shrugging. He starts to walk out past her (Sasha recognises the odd gait that Riptide explained as not being used to having legs again) and says, “Right, well, I haven’t exactly been subtle about it. Pretty sure there’s a flag on my computer. Be back soon, don’t burn the place down.” They trade places, Sasha standing just inside the door and Zolf next to Hamid. 

[holy shit.]  
**[i did warn you that ]**  
[yeah, you did, you were right, you’re always right, but holy shit!]

Sasha closes the door with a squeaky, “Have fun!” before slumping against it, sliding all the way down it until she’s sitting on the floor with her knees bunched up. “I’ve been wondering if he’s okay for months,” she whispers, “and we were _roommates.”_

**Author's Note:**

> _oh my god, they were ROOMMATES._
> 
> pyjimjams, my father whom i love, wrote a snippet of this verse that is REFERENCED IN THIS bc it was so incredibly soft. it's [you're the fire and the flood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914827) and its. guys jaime's niche is kidnapping fics and it _shows_ with how amazingly written it is!!!! check it out, it's stellar content and i love it so very very much.
> 
> anyway, im on tumblr @roswyrm, hmu!! ask me questions about this au, because there are a lot of things that i didn't get to fit in here. maybe i'll come back to it, idk. hope you enjoyed, comments and kudos are always appreciated but honestly, thank you just for reading it!! i love you!!!


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